


Teach Myself To Fly

by Elva_Barr



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elva_Barr/pseuds/Elva_Barr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No, Kurt," she says, moving her hands where they've been clasping his until she's got both of his wrists in her hands. "I mean, <i>love yourself</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Myself To Fly

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. An enormous thank you to the absolutely incredible abluegirl for her life-saving (okay, fic-saving) beta skills, and to sceptick for holding my hand and listening to me whine.  
> 2\. Concrit is always welcome!  
> 3\. Title from Britney Spears' The Touch of My Hand.  
> 4\. Spoilers for "The First Time."
> 
> Warnings: masturbation, voyeurism

_Masturbation_ \-- how can Blaine stand to say things like that? You don't just go out and talk about masturbating out loud in your bedroom with your parents right next door. As soon as Kurt’s initial shock at Blaine even saying anything like that passes, he pauses to consider what Blaine means. He jerks off after they make out. _Oh._ Okay, so that’s a little hard to swallow -- no, no, poor choice of words. Kurt tries to focus, clears his head, and lets Blaine tell him all about his urges. (Why aren’t they having sex already, when they’ve been dating for months already and Blaine hasn’t let him touch even a hipbone without stopping to “cool off”?)

Kurt brushes off Blaine’s suggestion so that he can explain the finer points of the Mugler collection until it’s time for his curfew. Only in the safety of his own room does Kurt allow himself to mull it over.

The thing is, Kurt does think about sex. He thinks about it all the time: in class, in Glee... every time Blaine dances like that. Kurt has a vividly active imagination, and while previously he used it to post scathing reviews about leggings not being an appropriate substitute for pants (regardless of what Mercedes might have to say on the matter), why would he think about unwise sartorial choices when he can think about Blaine? And not just Blaine’s ill-conceived pant choices. Kurt thinks about sex all of the time, about how Blaine touches him and how Kurt wishes Blaine would touch him.

Thinking about sex is not the same thing as touching himself, though. It’s not as if Kurt’s never done it, of course he has. Don’t be silly.

It’s just that what he has with Blaine in the hours they spend together is so special to him that he doesn’t want to end it by just - jacking off. It’s so vulgar. It’s not like Kurt thinks masturbation is evil or anything like that, but he lives with Finn Hudson, and if he still had that crush on him, he would admittedly be very impressed with how he can just go again, and again, and again, and, yes, yet again. As it is, he’s just left with a bounty of second-hand embarrassment for Finn, who really does think he’s being quiet.

Kurt’s just trying to wrap his head around how comfortable Blaine had been talking about masturbation, like it was obvious that he touched himself after being with Kurt -- that he touched himself _because_ he was with Kurt, and that's just too much -- when Blaine calls him.

They talk about the usual, running through their nightly routine together before Blaine clears his throat. There’s an awkward pause.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier, Kurt, I was rambling, and not thinking about what I was saying, and - ”

Kurt shakes his head, even though he knows Blaine can’t see him. “No, it’s fine.”

He takes a minute to gather his thoughts, he feels like he has something important to say to Blaine, he's just not sure what it is. Before he can vocalize it, Blaine mumbles, so quickly Kurt almost doesn’t catch it, “I mean, you _have_ , right?”

Kurt’s response is immediate and indignant. “What are you talking about, Blaine? Of course I have. I’m not some kind of sexless monk alien who doesn’t understand these strange human customs."

“Right, yeah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - yeah.” Blaine lets out a long, shaky sigh. “Good night, Kurt. I love you.”

Every time he says that, it brings a smile to Kurt’s face, and he’s smiling softly as he tells Blaine goodnight and hangs up the phone.

Kurt turns the light off, and slides into bed.

He’s wearing his favorite psuedo-equestrian outfit, which consists of these wonderfully soft taupe pants, a simple skull-patterned shirt with a Hommes des Garcon scarf, and dark brown riding boots - riding boots that are slowly getting wet, because he’s standing in a bathtub.

“Sorry about the mess, I don’t have a lot of time to clean,” he hears from behind. He turns to the source of the voice. Lady Gaga is standing, wearing the bedazzled denim ensemble from ‘Marry the Night.’ She takes off her sunglasses and walks toward him.

He’s a little dumbstruck - he had his “meeting Gaga” outfit planned, and it certainly wasn’t this one, plus, he wants to get out of the bathtub but doesn’t want to tread water all over the floors. Kurt breathes a prayer for the boots and gingerly steps out of them, walking the rest of the way towards her in his socks.

“I love those boots,” he sighs dolefully.

“I love that lavender blonde,” she replies.

Kurt pauses. He’s not sure how to respond to that. Thankfully, Gaga takes the reins, and leads him over to a table set for two with tea and multi-colored macarons set out. It seems like she wants to say something, but she pauses, maybe to get her thoughts in order. She begins to speak, and pauses again, taking his hands into hers. Her bejeweled nails dig into his palm a little bit.

“Kurt, you’ve been a very special little monster to me.” Gaga’s voice is soft, but her eyes bore straight into his. It’s frightening, to be honest. “It’s why I’m visiting you today.”

Kurt smiles, and nods. Somehow he can’t shake the feeling that he’s about to be grounded or something.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, sweetheart,” she says, like she can read his mind, “I just need to talk to you about something that’s important to me.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, stretching out the last vowel. “So?” She doesn’t say anything for a minute, fiddling with the handle of her teacup. He prompts, “Something that’s important to you?”

She looks up from her teacup and fixes him with a direct stare. “Your dick, Kurt.”

Kurt chokes on his tea. He’s not sure if he heard her right. She sighs deeply, drinking the rest of her tea. "Kurt, your body is a temple. You dress impeccably, you moisturize, you do everything you ought to do, but you have to love yourself."

Kurt frowns. "I have high self-esteem. Of course there's a fine line between 'high self esteem' and 'large ego masking larger insecurities,' but that's really just the danger of being a teenager."

"No, Kurt," she says, moving her hands where they've been clasping his until she's got both of his wrists in her hands. "I mean, _love yourself_."

Kurt stares at her, flabbergasted. She tightens her hands around his wrists.

"Down there, Kurt," her voice is dry, and she must know that he is perfectly aware of what she's saying. "Love yourself _in your pants_ is what I'm trying to say here, honey, are you with it?"

"Yes, I think I've got it now, thanks!" Kurt replies, voice creeping higher with every syllable. He didn’t think that he’d ever want to escape a situation so seemingly perfect as this - tea and cookies with Lady Gaga - but this is a conversation that he needs over with, stat.

“Listen,” she sighs, “with great power, comes great responsibility. Your dick is - it’s formidable. And you need to start, _you know_!” Lady Gaga waggles her eyebrows, motioning towards his crotch.

It’s not as if he _hasn’t_ , he has, he just -

Okay. He hasn’t.

Not in any way that counts, anyway. That is to say, he tried and failed. It’s not even so much that he failed, it’s just that his life is a comedy of errors.

Surprising absolutely no one, Kurt Hummel was a late bloomer. Over the summer between middle school and high school, Kurt had had a series of dreams that were wonderfully hazy, arousing, and made him skilled at getting semen stains out of silk throw pillows. He didn’t have any _problems_ until the ninth grade.

It was at the first pep rally, an event that was really held so that teachers could pre-emptively address the questions and objections to be raised at the first Parent-Teacher Conference the next day. Students were told to pay attention, and “more importantly, not to complain to your parents!,” in the words of Principal Figgins.

It was boring at first, and Kurt had wondered how he could feel like he’d heard something a million times already if this was the first time he was hearing it - until one of the teachers stepped up to the podium to talk.

If asked after the pep rally what the teacher had said, Kurt wouldn’t have been able to tell you because he was so distracted by the man’s appearance. While it wasn’t as if Kurt spent all of his time rating men in terms of physical attractiveness, he couldn’t help but notice that the guy wasn’t _un_ attractive. Kurt did, of course, spend all of his time looking at and judging other people’s clothing, and just as he had written the man off as one of those horrible people who think Walmart is an acceptable manufacturer of ties, the teacher lifted a hand, loosened his tie, and --- it’s embarrassing, it is, but Kurt had always been attracted to manliness, and while he’s changed his definition of that from then to now, it was sort of a defining moment. He had balked at the idea that someone wouldn’t wear an undershirt with a dress shirt, but then he saw the smallest tuft of chest hair, peeking out of the starched white Oxford.

It was ridiculous. It was hilarious to think about, now, how that sight had made Kurt inordinately hard.

He’d had to leave the assembly, sort of awkwardly because he had a boner, but at the time he’d been really into slouchy cardigans, so he was lucky.

Kurt had escaped to the bathroom, walked inside of a stall and hadn’t bothered to lock it because everyone was at the assembly anyway, and he hadn’t even been thinking “wow, this is a momentous occasion, the first time I masturbate,” or anything of the sort, he’d just wished he’d worn looser jeans and thought _wow, this feels good_ and it was feeling good, really really good, until the door opened and he heard “Is anybody in here?”

He recalled the scene in slow motion, one of his hands going to the stall door to try to stop him, the other going to his rapidly reddening face, the door opening and the man’s jaw dropping, his _squeak_ of horror.

And that was how Kurt Hummel met Will Schuester.

Gaga snaps him out of his memory. “I’m sorry,” Kurt says, “but this is a difficult subject for me. After this one debacle in the ninth grade, I never really... this is making me uncomfortable.”

Gaga looks at him with a bit of pity, and she stands up, shakes her hair out, wiggles her shoulders, and suddenly --

“Is this better?” She asks, dressed as Jo Calderone.

Jo runs a hand through his hair, and rifles through the pockets of his studded leather jacket, taking out his pack of Newports. He lights a cigarette, takes a puff, and blows the smoke in Kurt’s face. Kurt coughs and turns his face to the side, and Jo stubs the cigarette out in his own shallow teacup.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he whispers, leaning in so close that Kurt can feel his warm breath on his cheek. Kurt flushes, and Jo smirks.

Kurt needs to explain it to him, how the bathroom situation was so traumatic that he was honestly never able to do it. When Finn moved in, he wanted to, because Finn was there, but then, well, Finn was there, and he couldn’t bear the thought of scaring him away like he had Mr. Schue. One night he had tried, he’d locked his door and donned his silk boxers and turned Blondie’s “I Touch Myself” on repeat - and then his father had knocked on his door. Kurt touching himself just isn’t written in the stars.

Jo trails a hand down Kurt’s chest and looms over him -- looming as much as he could, anyway, since he is five feet tall. “I do have to admit, there’s a certain allure in your virginal nature, and you know, the fact that you’ve _never_ had an orgasm...” The way Jo says the word is intense; even his voice deepens.

“I have!” Kurt defends, “I have dreams.”

“Oh, I know,” Jo says, his voice a near growl by now, “I can imagine. I wouldn’t mind making those dreams a reality, if you catch my drift.”

Jo doesn’t give him a chance to respond; he leans down and presses his lips to Kurt’s. He doesn’t pull any punches, sliding his tongue into Kurt’s mouth and gripping the hair on the back of his head until it hurts and Kurt has to lean his head back. He can barely move and it should be frightening, but instead it sends a hot thrill of heat all the way to his fingertips until his hands are shaking where he’s clutching his own thighs, shaking as they slide upwards until he’s grasping his --

Kurt gasps, sitting straight up in his bed. He glances at the alarm clock; it’s barely four am. He gingerly removes his hands from his crotch, feeling a little embarrassed.

He doesn’t have any more dreams, and he wakes up feeling oddly rejuvenated. He contemplates his dream as he selects his wardrobe for the day. Of course he knows it’s strange that he doesn’t masturbate; every time he tries, he’s put off by the fact that it’s strange he hasn’t already, and then he’s turned off and it’s pointless. It’s a little weird to complain about Blaine not touching his nether regions when he can’t bring himself to do it, but it’s his body and if he doesn’t want to touch it, that’s okay. Blaine should respect that, even if he doesn’t feel the same way about his own body.

Kurt lays aside the thought, until Mercedes arrives at his house for a sleep over that night, after meeting with her Bible study group. Kurt made the mistake of making fun of her about it one time and one time only. Anyway, it doesn't bother him that she goes, because she comes back with juicy gossip and she’s always willing to share.

“And apparently Mrs. Thomas was worried to leave them alone in the house, but when she came back, Lacey was with his older brother, and he was on Skype with a ‘friend’ from school,” Mercedes finished with a triumphant tone in her voice.

“Well now,” Kurt says, lamely, because he’d gotten lost in his own thoughts when Mercedes started telling him about Mrs. Thomas's scheme to get them together.

Mercedes sighs and bumps Kurt’s shoulder with her own. “What is it, hon? Something’s been on your mind all day.”

Kurt sighs into his salmon and endive salad and prepares himself for a difficult conversation, just in case he isn’t able to evade this one. “It’s awkward,” he says in his clipped tone.

Mercedes is not amused. She’s giving him this look, this very very unamused glare, and she doesn’t even have to say anything before Kurt, stressed out and conflicted, crumples.

“Mercedes, do you - oh god. I can’t!” His voice rises to a bit of a quiet shriek at the end, he wants to talk about this but he doesn’t understand how he can possibly even _start_ a conversation about his _penis_ with his best friend.

Meanwhile, Mercedes’ eyes widen at his obvious distress and she looks around (they’re alone anyway, Finn had left to his room as soon as Kurt told him that dinner was a salad) before furtively whispering to him. “Kurt, if you’re dying or something, you need to tell me!”

She’s got one of Kurt’s hands clasped between both of her own, and he tries to tug it away, but she holds on tight, squeezing to indicate that he needs to tell her, and tell her now.

“It’s not death, it’s - do you - do you remember when I told you yesterday that Blaine and I had a talk about _going there_?”

“ _Already_?” She asks incredulously. “Kurt, why didn’t you tell me? You know I support you, you shouldn’t be embarrassed about it!” Mercedes grins at him, and it’s not a crazy grin, but he’s heard the words “support you” from Rachel before (and let's just say it did not end well). He should stop her before she tries to bring out a cake or crack open a bottle of sparkling cider or go to a sex shop. It’s fascinating how many of his friends are invested in his sex life.

“No, no, we didn’t do it yet. We will, but I didn’t tell you the full extent of our conversation,” Kurt admits, “I left out one tiny but very important detail.”

 _It’s my penis,_ he thinks to himself hysterically. _I left out the part where Blaine thinks I should touch my penis._

“Well?” Mercedes prompts.

 _Also, it’s not tiny,_ he adds in his mental monologue before continuing. “When I - very bravely, I may add - told him that I wanted to rip all of his clothes off, do you know what he said?”

“Get to it? Come on, loverboy?” Mercedes suggests, before schooling her smirk into an expression of rapt attention. “Tell me more?”

“Do you know what he told me?” Arugula goes flying from the end of Kurt’s fork as he gestures a bit too hard with it. “He told me that he touches himself!”

Mercedes leans away, maybe because she doesn’t want to be the victim of another salad-and-wrath-related incident. “You’re right, that’s horrible. I mean - it’s not _horrible_ , it’s his body, whatever, but what is he doing, telling you about that?”

Kurt sets his fork down and sighs. Maybe he should at least try to give Blaine more credit. “It was sort of... ‘I masturbate to relieve sexual frustration after we make out’ type of advice. You know how he is when he tries to give advice.”

“Okay,” Mercedes replies. “That’s a little less drastic. I think we also need to talk about how you’re using a falsetto to imitate Blaine’s voice, though.”

Kurt throws a cherry tomato at her half-heartedly and she laughs at him, before clasping his hand again.

“Listen, I know this might sound kind of weird, but... I think Blaine’s right. You know, you’re always so uptight about these things, and that’s okay, you’re fabulous,” she backtracks when she sees the expression on Kurt’s face, “but maybe it wouldn’t hurt for you to relax a little. I mean, you do - do that, right?”

Kurt’s tone is flat. “You mean masturbate.”

Mercedes looks away. She’s let go of his hand by now, and fidgets with her fingers before sighing. “Yeah. It’s - Kurt. Listen. Whatever you do is okay. You know that. You should know that, anyway. We will always be fabulous. But don’t judge him for doing it and talking about it, if you haven’t really tried.”

“Mercedes, what do you even think of me? I’m a teenage boy, do you honestly think I’ve never - ugh!” He storms away from her, chair screeching against the tile.

Before he can get far, though, Mercedes grabs him by the arm. “It’s okay, Kurt,” she says, looking at him intently. “You’re different. It’s okay if you have, it’s okay if you haven’t. You know I won’t judge you for it. I just think that, maybe if you haven’t, you could try, and maybe if you have, and it wasn’t so great, maybe you could try again. It’s like - Tina and I talked about the same thing, too.”

“You and Tina talked about me touching myself.”

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “No, dummy. We talked about it in general. You know. And she said she was kind of a late bloomer, too.”

“Really?” Kurt doesn’t think about whether or not his friends masturbate, but if anyone does, it would be Tina. Tina’s practically the New Directions authority on sex.

Mercedes seems to sense this. “Yeah, she said that when she started to, it helped her be more confident, you know? I’m sure it wasn’t the only thing, but Tina did a lot of self-discovery this summer.”

There’s an awkward pause before Kurt lets out a giggle.

Mercedes smacks Kurt’s arm. “You know what I mean!”

It helps break the tension. Kurt sighs and shakes his head. “I do,” he says, “but what about you, missy? Were you not a late bloomer?”

Mercedes laughs. “I had an older sister.”

Later that night, Mercedes assures Kurt of her totally platonic and healthy relationship with her sister and they fall asleep midway in a marathon of America’s Next Top Model. Kurt decides that he _might_ think about - doing that, trying again, after all. Maybe. He’s dithering at this point, and even though he appreciates Mercedes’ reassurance, he kind of wishes that someone would just tell him what to do.

He thinks about bringing it up with Blaine the next day at school, but decides not to due to the potential mortifying embarrassment. Kurt can just imagine it - "hey, I'm considering taking up masturbation, what do you think?" - and it's a ridiculous notion. The day passes without incident, although he does manage to hang three more campaign posters of his own over Rachel's. He almost tries to bring it up with her, but she's spending the day in character before rehearsal, and he's not sure he wants to hear Maria's thoughts on self-love.

Before he goes to bed that night, he checks his twitter feed, which is mostly a habit to see if Jacob Ben Israel has posted anything ridiculous. The first tweet on Lady Gaga's feed is "And remember, little monsters: LOVE YOURSELF!"

Well. That's that.

Kurt catches himself smiling in the mirror when he puts on his green tea therapy nighttime under-eye cream, and lets out a deep breath. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal, millions of people do this every single day. He can do this. There’s no reason to get worked up about it - except, of course, in the way that he’s supposed to get worked up.

He doesn’t bother putting his pajamas on because, well, what if he makes a mess or what if he needs to shower again afterwards? He would worry about waking someone up with the shower, but it’s fairly quiet and Finn sleeps like the dead, anyway. He also puts his pack of make-up removers next to the bed, just in case he doesn’t - doesn’t need to clean up or gets really sleepy afterwards. Mercedes told him that was normal.

Right. Thinking about his best friend’s _masturbatory pep talk_ probably won’t help.

It’s odd walking around his room naked, but it’s kind of liberating, too. He panics for a second because he forgot to close the blinds on his window, but it’s one am in the middle of Ohio and he’s pretty sure nobody is out there watching him. Kurt closes the blinds anyway, getting a little jolt of cold when his fingertips touch the glass. He laughs to himself at the idea of somebody peeking in on him - it’s a quiet, hysterical laugh, but _what if_ , and slides under his soft covers, the sheets cool against his skin.

Kurt can hear his shuddering breath in the relative quiet of his room, and he can’t seem to get it under control. He doesn’t want to just _start_ right away, it’s weird to even think about spending an entire - what? five minutes? twenty? an hour? he doesn’t really know what’s normal here, although he knows that using Finn for a barometer is both inaccurate and creepy - evening just touching himself. The idea of touching his own skin just for the sake of it is novel, overwhelming, extraordinary.

He starts out slowly, with just the press of his hand, _oh_ it’s cold against his collarbone. He has this small spot of tight muscle here, and it normally just feels strange and maybe a little ticklish, but now he pushes down and his hand is making tight little circles without him even thinking about it.

Kurt sighs. It feels good. It’s okay.

The bottom of the palm of his hand is quite close to his nipple, but he doesn’t think about that yet. That’s - big stuff. He’s still working out the small stuff now. He stays there for a minute and wonders if he should be thinking of anything, anyone, yet.

That’s the part Kurt didn’t really plan out - he doesn’t know if he should think about Blaine, or if that’s boring, or if it’s sort of cheating if he doesn’t think of Blaine, because he certainly does have _fantasies_. He thinks about sex all the time, and, well, usually it’s Blaine, and maybe that makes him boring, but he likes to think of it as “planning ahead.”

He’s not sold on the idea of fantasy, though, because it seems silly to try to imagine that Blaine is touching him when he’s _not_. He knows what it feels like when Blaine touches him, maybe not _there_ but on his waist at least. Kurt tries it, both hands on his stomach, and it wouldn’t - he has to cross his arms before it feels like Blaine hugging him, and it really doesn’t. Blaine’s hands are a little smaller, hairier maybe: they feel distinctly different, and Kurt knows it’s not Blaine touching him.

If he wanted Blaine to touch him, he’d just _ask_ , maybe a little more directly. That’s not why he’s here; he’s here to touch himself, and it’s ridiculous to try to make it into some facsimile of sex, it’s not sex, Mercedes had even told him that -

Okay. _Calm down, Kurt Hummel,_ he thinks to himself and smooths his palms down his torso -

Oh.

He feels sort of a shiver through his whole body, and he trails his fingertips down his hips. He does it again, just the tips of his fingers up and down his hips and he feels fidgety, he feels a hot tug of arousal low in his stomach, he feels like he needs more.

Kurt had trimmed his nails before, in case he wanted to, well. Just in case. It makes the path of his fingertips along his hips (just to the tops of his thighs but avoiding his now half-hard dick) super-smooth and maybe a little damp because his hands sweat a little bit. He’s curious, though, and he digs his nails into his hips, just below the hipbone, just quickly to see if it feels good and it feels _so_ good. His head jerks back a little bit, without his volition, it was an unbearable sensation and he needs more, now.

He scraps the blunt edge of his nails in that same spot, creeping a little closer to his dick, which he can feel - he can feel his dick getting harder, and he has to close his eyes because his senses are just this side of overwhelmed and it’s almost too much to bear.

Maybe it’s time to try out something else. He stops the circling motion of his fingers and brings his hands up to his chest. It feels heady just to bring them up, just touching along his stomach. Kurt can’t hear anything but the shakiness of his own breath and the rustling of the sheets.

He nervously brings one hand to his chest, just barely brushing across - _wow_. It’s intense, even that one small touch of his hand. Kurt knows his nipples are kind of sensitive, he wears soft cotton t-shirts and tank tops under his nicer clothes because if he doesn’t, by the end of the day they’re just hard and aching and frankly annoying under the starchy material.

He just didn’t know it would feel like _this_. Pressing into them feels wonderful, and he tries flicking his index finger against one of his nipples and then he’s slapping his whole palm against his chest in an effort to curb the sensation before he even knows what’s happening. That so _intense_ , his breath is harsh in the quiet of his room and he can feel his nipple getting tight and hard. God, it’s too much, he needs to _do something_ , and it takes him a minute before he figures out what that something is. Oh boy.

It’s dark in the room. He had left a small lamp on by his bedside table, and it illuminates the room well enough that when he looks down the length of his body, he can see his hard cock outlined in the sheets. Kurt takes another deep, shuddering breath and adjusts the covers around his shoulders.

His right hand travels down again and he closes his eyes. Maybe it will be easier with his eyes closed. He inches his fingers closer and closer to his - to his dick, and jumps a little when they finally make contact with the base.

Gently, Kurt wraps his hand around his dick. His palm is a little damp with sweat, from nervousness, so it’s not too dry. This is where he’d gotten tripped up before - he’d think “well, isn’t this pointless,” and give up after a few rough jerks - but he’s determined now. Determined and more than a little aroused.

His hand has formed a loose fist around his cock, and he moves it up, his grip light and kind of infuriating, but he wants to take it slowly. At least, he doesn’t want to try to rush through it and get mad and stop out of anger. He grips his thigh with his left hand and tries to figure out where he’s most sensitive.

There’s a vein along the underside and it’s very faint, but pressing in on it feels wonderful; it’s not enough with just his fingers pushing in, it’s so good but it’s just not enough, he wants it harder, so he uses one hand to hold his dick still and rubs along that line with the heel of his hand, and it feels so good that he gets lost in the sensation for a while, just touching his dick with both hands, feeling the muscles in his hips tense and relax with every stroke of his palm.

Does Blaine touch himself like this? Suddenly all of the air in Kurt’s lungs whooshes out of his mouth and he feels his face flush and his dick _pulse_ in his hands. It is sensitive, right at the head, and he brings a hand up to touch - _oh_ , yes, it is so very sensitive, and there’s a bit of wetness coming out of the slit.

His hand keeps rubbing gently, just under the head, where it’s so sensitive it’s nearly unbearable, but he can’t stop and he wonders if that would be too much for Blaine, if he’d tell Kurt to stop and be a little gentler, or if he’d be kind of into the sharpness of the sensation, the way it feels like he’s going to turn himself inside out if he keeps going but he can’t bring himself to stop.

Kurt grips himself just below the head, so that he can use his thumb to touch that incredible, super-sensitive piece of skin and stroke the rest of his fingers along his shaft. He rakes the nails of his other hand across his hip, where it had been so overwhelming earlier, and it’s still overwhelming now, but in the best way, he just needs more and harder and --

Kurt hears a noise, and it must be something like an out-of-body experience because knows he must have been the one to make that sort of - moan? Yes, he decides, it was a moan, soft but definitely audible. He grinds his teeth together in an effort to keep silent.

His hand had stilled on his dick and he moves his fingers again, a little rough now, and he makes another small noise - _certainly_ not a whimper. He reaches for the lotion he’d put on the nightstand with his other hand, not willing to let go for even a second because it feels so good and he’s not just going to stop.

Thankfully, he manages to get a little bit of lotion on his hand without creating a huge mess, and he carefully lifts the sheet, trying not to get it anywhere but - where it’s intended. It’s cool but it’s not unpleasant, and it warms up quickly when he starts to move his hand.

Kurt can’t stop himself from stroking just a bit faster, and pressing his thumb into the slit of his cock just to see what it feels like (it’s _intense_ , and he does it again just to be sure) and he hears his breath hitch, the sheets rustle, the slick sound of the lotion sticking against his skin. He feels a little short of breath so he licks his lips and the sensation of his tongue against his lips reminds him of kissing, of _Blaine_ kissing him, and he wonders if would Blaine kiss him when he came?

Just the thought is enough to make his dick jump again, he has to turn his head to the side, he doesn’t know how his body is even dealing with this much arousal. Kurt doesn’t know when his eyes closed, but when he opens them again he’s facing the window.

There’s a small sliver uncovered by the drapes, a tiny peek of the pitch-black nightfall outside. Kurt wonders if maybe - it’s dumb, he knows it, but he’s so overwhelmed and his hand tightens on his cock just at the _thought_ \- he’s visible from the outside, if someone out there can see him like this. He kicks off the sheets and the cool air is soothing on his naked body but the idea that an unknown person could see him like this, his dick hard and _aching_ , clutched in both hands, his hips shifting frantically with every movement, face and chest flushed red with arousal - his hips arch off the bed and he gasps, wonders what he’d look like to someone watching.

Kurt feels the orgasm building in his entire body, from the tips of his toes, curling into his feet, to his legs, twisting in the sheets, down to the roots of his hair, so he moves his hand faster, tighter around the head of his cock and licks his lips again, wonders if he could even concentrate enough to kiss anyone right now. It feels so good that he can’t focus on anything but the sensation and he hears a tight _”Ah!”_ and when he realizes it’s him, that he just made that tiny desperate noise, he comes.

It’s - it’s nearly indescribable, the sensation. All of his muscles tense and release and it feels good just to move his head against the cool pillow, just to brush his ankles against one another, just the feeling of his hand wrapped around himself, not even squeezing, just holding, feels incredible in the moment of orgasm. Kurt shudders; every part of his body is overwhelmed.

Kurt takes in a deep breath and realizes that he _held his breath_ when he came, which is probably a good thing because Finn is a heavy sleeper, but he’s not such a heavy sleeper, and who knows what sort of noise Kurt could have made?

 _Blaine might know soon,_ Kurt thinks, and giggles to himself. He takes one of the make-up wipes out of the box and cleans himself up. He still feels all tingly and wonderful and he blushes a little when he looks at his half-hard cock covered in come, watching his hands as he cleans it away. He has a trashcan near his nightstand, which is wonderful because he can’t possibly be bothered to get up right now (he makes a mental note to tell Mercedes that she’s right about the sleepiness). Kurt turns off the light and slides under the covers again.

The sheets feel nice against his skin, and he burrows into them for a moment before congratulating himself on a rousing success of a night and falling asleep.

When he wakes, he’s on a stage. He balks for a second because he knows he went to sleep naked, but it turns out that he’s got bigger problems. His entire lower half is gone and instead, he has a fishtail. A mermaid’s - merman’s? - turquoise tail shines back at him, and it feels oddly dry. He wonders if it's been out of the water for too long.

“Excuse me?” Kurt calls, when he hears footsteps coming from upstage. He twists to see who it is, scales sliding against the polished wooden stage.

It’s Jo. He’s wearing his trademark suit, but he takes off the suit jacket as he approaches, leaving him in a simple white t-shirt, and his arms are bigger than Kurt would have imagined.

“You’ve gotta be cold,” Jo mutters, and drapes the jacket over Kurt’s bare shoulders. It smells like tobacco and sea salt - no, the sea salt has to be coming from him. Jo rubs his shoulders through the fabric when Kurt shivers, although he was less cold, and moreso shivering at the mere thought of smelling like fish.

Kurt clears his throat and turns to look at him. “What does this mean?” He asks, motioning towards his tail, “should I not have- have done what I did last night? Is that what the tail means?”

Jo laughs and crouches down next to Kurt, careful to keep his shoes away from the tail. “It means you need to stop watching that bitch’s videos five times in a row, buddy,” he says.

His voice is pitched low, just loud enough for Kurt to be able to hear him, and Kurt feels playful when he smacks Jo in the arm. “Don’t call her that,” he says.

Jo doesn’t respond, he just slides one of his arms around Kurt’s waist and leans in close, looking from his eyes to his mouth. He whispers Kurt’s name, and Kurt nods.

The kiss is the same as it was last time - brutal, incredible. Kurt nearly falls back on the floor when Jo slides his tongue into his mouth, but he’s saved by a strong hand against his back. Jo carefully eases him down onto the floor cradling his head in one of his hands, fingers twined through Kurt’s hair.

When Kurt’s back hits the stage, he immediately wraps his arms around Jo, one hand gripping his hip and pulling him closer. He hears a low groan and realizes that it must be him. One of his fins twitches in desperation, wishing desperately to be a leg so it could wrap around Jo’s body.

Jo kisses down his neck to his collarbone, licking right below it. He starts to suck a hickey into the skin, and when Kurt gasps, he smirks. “Sensitive spot for you, huh?”

That’s when Kurt wakes up. It’s a rush to just wake up like that, heart pounding and blood rushing. He’s hard _again_ even though it’s only been a couple of hours since he fell asleep. He only feels a little bit weird when he brings his hand to his dick for the second time, and he’s so worked up from the dream that it doesn’t take him long at all to come. Again. He smirks to himself; in an odd way, he feels like he’s gotten away with something. He stays awake just long enough to clean himself up and burrow back under the covers, falling into dreamless sleep.

Of course, he wakes up hard, but that’s normal, and he doesn’t think anything of it. He heads to the shower - he always showers in the morning because it’s impossible for him to sleep five more minutes with an erection, and harder still to get dressed.

He doesn’t even _think_ about jerking off until hot water is sluicing through his hair. Needless to say, it takes him an extra twenty minutes to shower.

Kurt worried about being more sleepy afterwards, but he’s surprised to note that he feels energized. Blaine remarks on his good mood when he picks him up for school ("you're even wearing your good mood boots!").

He floats on a strange masturbatory high all day. He’s grateful that he wore his stunning navy half-cape, because his nipples _ache_ \- he didn’t even touch them much, but even so, he’s hyper-aware of them all day. He doesn’t mind it, and considers it a nice reminder of what he’s accomplished.

Maybe it’s strange to think of it that way, but Kurt does feel like he's achieved something: he really thought that he would just never be able to masturbate, that he was some horrible mutant that was just forever going to be unable to bring himself any kind of sexual fulfillment. Kurt is more than happy to prove someone wrong, even when that someone is himself.

He's feeling so bold that when Blaine takes his adventurous nature into question, he shares his bucket list. Kurt's a little surprised with himself, but the payoff is worth it. The way Blaine looks at him sometimes, it makes Kurt feel like he's floating on air. Number nine on the list is “improve functionality of a scarf and/or tie by using it to tie someone up: IN BED” - Rachel had added the clarification after scrolling through his list one day. He spends math class wondering if he could convince Blaine to be that someone (the real question is: would he tie Blaine on his back, or on his stomach?).

Kurt is still trying to figure out if Blaine will sweat enough to constrict a silk tie, when he hears Mrs. Hagberg call his name.

“Well?” She drones, looking at him expectantly.

Kurt sees Puck, sitting in front of him, turn around and frantically wave four fingers at him.

“Four,” Kurt answers, backtracking when he sees Puck shake his head, “oh, no, excuse me, I meant to say...”

Kurt pauses and looks to Puck. Puck takes Sam’s arm and makes a chomping gesture. “Eight! Eight, that’s what I meant to say.”

Mrs. Hagberg smiles at him and writes a large, cursive number eight on the board. “You’re right, Kurt, that _is_ the chapter we are reading this week.”

Kurt breathes a sigh of relief and smiles at Puck, opening his book to Chapter Eight. Though he tries, he has a hard time paying attention during class and he wonders why he’s being so inattentive.

He texts Blaine to let him know that he’ll be late to their Lima Bean date - attention sucking side effect or not, he’s _got_ to talk to Mercedes about this. Kurt spends History class writing the least appropriate thank-you card ever.

He doesn’t give his newfound masturbatory habits another thought until he’s on the phone with Blaine that night. He tries not to feel defeated, because they’re going through the same skin regimen Sebastian had called boring, but he’s a little unsure and, well, sometimes he does need to fish for compliments, so he does.

“Of course it’s not boring, Kurt. And you have no idea how grateful I am, because without you, I would never exfoliate.” Blaine says the last words softly, and it might sound silly to anyone else, but to Kurt, that’s practically ‘I love you.’

“Aw, honey.” Kurt smiles at his cell phone, even though Blaine can’t see him. They’d talked about doing a skype session instead, but agreed that they didn’t want to share their exfoliated, plucked (in Kurt’s case), newly moisturized faces. “Are you excited for tomorrow night?”

Blaine laughs on the other line. Blaine must know that it’s another way for Kurt to make sure he didn’t step over the line by telling Sebastian they’d go clubbing. He assures Kurt that of course it wasn’t, and starts telling him about the performance that Sebastian and the Warblers had put on at Dalton.

Kurt cleans up his “stinky face stuff” - Finn needs to use the bathroom - and slides into bed, content to let the conversation lull him into sleep. Maybe he’ll have another dream. Kurt smiles to himself a little mischievously, unbuttons his shirt and slides his hand under the waistband of his pajama pants as Blaine speculates about what kind of things they’ll see at _Scandals_.


End file.
